Important Questions || Curse of Strahd - Intro
In comparison to the soul-shivering breeze and the heavy fog outside, the warm glow of the dim pub lights and the bright cadence of the live band on stage was welcoming. All around, merriment brought on by drink infected each of the patrons, filling the air with loud bouts of laughter and the cheerful clinking of glasses.
In one particular corner, the hurried scratches of graphite on parchment could be heard as a glamorous quartet sat and ate their meals, ignoring the paparazzi waiting for a scandal with leering stares and pencils at the ready. At first glance, one would most certainly consider the bunch rather âout of the ordinaryâ.
A bespectacled half-orc with fiery hair done up in a high ponytail and a seemingly permanent smile upon her tusked lips leaned over the shoulder of a deep scarlet-skinned tiefling, whose inky-black eyes to match the inks of his pens remained trained on the parchment on which he was drawing. His muse at the moment being the half-elf sitting across from him, a shorter man with a crop of undercut jet-black hair, a blue, fashionably double-breasted jacket, and bright, angular eyes which scanned the crowded pub before returning with anticipation to his attractive partner. The partner in question was a tall elf leaning lazily back against the padded seats of their booth, his wide-brimmed and pointed hat dancing in the air as his fingers traced the matching fur-lined collar of his maroon vest, eyeing the half-elf with the same appreciation.
At the moment, it was this group that held the gaze of a large number of the patrons, the elfâs fame as a popular wedding planner drawing more than a few unwanted guests looking for the newest gossip to print in âye rags of oldâ. These stares didnât remain on them for much longer, however, as a moment later the door swung open, hushing the cheers and calls of the previously boisterous pub.
Silhouetted in the door stood a man clothed in bright fabric, with a hat tipped low to skew his features. As he strode into the pub, a heavy coin-purse on his hip jangled teasingly, the only sound to be heard besides the clunk of his boots upon the hardwood as he approached the rag-tag group of renegades.
Coming to a stop at their table, the man folded his arms, meeting the steady gaze of their keen leader, Ro, the smartly dressed half-elf. âI have been sent to you to deliver this message,â he started, his voice thick with an unfamiliar accent. âIf you be creatures of honor, you will come to my masterâs aid at first light. It is not advisable to travel the Svalich woods at night.â From his belt, he pulled a neatly sealed letter with beautifully looping handwriting addressing it to everyone at the table and threw it down for them to read. âTake the west road from here, five hours march down through the Svalich woods, and there you will find my master, in Barovia.â
The lackadaisical elf with the uniquely brilliant sense of fashion, who went by the name of Remy, turned his eyes up to meet the manâs as well, giving him a hard look. âI have a question, sir.â
âYes?â the man asked with a hiss.
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